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This morning began the way the best mornings do, with Whiskey Kitty pressed against my cheek, purring like a tiny motor of unconditional love and giving gentle ear licks as if to say, Wake up, human. The day needs you. Instead of our usual routine, I placed her in her carrier and handed her off to Mom for a trip to the pet hospital. Today was supposed to be her spay appointment. She wasn’t thrilled about the early interruption, and neither was I. To make matters more complicated, she wasn’t supposed to eat, but she had food last night and...

Whiskey Kitty bit me hard this morning. Not a love nibble. Not a playful warning. A full-on, you-slept-too-long-and-I-am-starving bite. Message received. I have to wake up earlier. This cat runs on a strict internal clock, and it does not observe snooze buttons. After feeding her, I did the thing I already knew I was going to do. I went and bought another pack of cigarettes, fully aware of the decision while I was making it. No fog. No mystery. Just me, the counter, and a quiet nod to a habit that still knows my name. My caseworker texted me a...

I usually block off a section of the house for Whiskey to roam once I wake up and get myself together. It’s our routine. Controlled chaos. A small kingdom where she can patrol, pounce, and judge me silently. This morning, as I handed her to my mom, we could practically hear her tiny internal monologue coming out as loud, indignant meows: Dan was mean to me. He didn’t feed me on time. So I bit him up. Case closed. 🐾⚖️She had clearly prepared her testimony. Then, moments later, mom sneezed. Not a polite little sniffle. A full-blown sneeze that sent...

At approximately 10 a.m., Whiskey Kitty declared war on my wrists. Sharp tiny teeth. Pounce mode fully activated. Wrists shredded like deli meat. The lesson was immediate and painful: forget to feed the cat and she transforms from angelic furball into a feral biting monster with a personal vendetta. So I did my duty. Bowls filled. Peace restored. Then I did the other thing. I went straight for the cigars and tea at 7-Eleven. Yesterday I had already blogged and texted about my relapse, feeling like I’d let everyone down. The responses were kind, supportive, forgiving. And yet, there I...

I woke up the good way today. The kind of morning that starts softly and insists gently. Purrs first. Then ear licking. Then air kisses. A feline greeting card written in whiskers. That sweetness didn’t last long. It evolved, as it always does, into playful pouncing and light biting. Whiskey Kitty has range. Mom screamed for me to wake up, which snapped me fully into the day. I rolled out of bed, half-human, half-zombie, and fed the cat. Crisis averted. For now. Yesterday was tough. I went to the coffeehouse planning to work, to settle in and do my thing,...